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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26295589">It's On Her Ankle</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teabag_Hag/pseuds/Teabag_Hag'>Teabag_Hag</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus &amp; Guillermo del Toro</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>.......I'm out of T words for Tags, F/M, In which Barbara is not very culturally sensitive, Jim is also mentioned for exactly one hot second but that's it, Oneshot, Tattoos, Tea, Trolls, Walter is absolutely deserving of a little gentle ribbing, but in her defence, contains no spoilers for Wizards, post S03, sometime before or during 3below i suppose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:42:53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>793</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26295589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teabag_Hag/pseuds/Teabag_Hag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief conversation on trollish tattoos. A oneshot.</p><p>--<br/>This is my very first time publishing anything anywhere so I hope you will be gentle with me. Or don't. Baptism by fire. Enjoy.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barbara Lake/Walter Strickler | Stricklander</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>It's On Her Ankle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Walter... is that a, ‘<em>tramp stamp</em>’?”</p><p>One, perhaps, might struggle when asked to imagine what, ‘dry incredulity’, looked like when worn upon the facial features of a millennia old, changeling troll. Somehow, Walter Stricklander managed to pull off what could only be described as an exceedingly prime example.</p><p>Red and gold eyes blinked owlishly as he carefully lowered his still steaming teacup from where it had jarringly halted half-way to his lips.</p><p>“I beg, your <em>p a r d o n </em>?” Walter intoned, nonplussed.</p><p>Setting his cup down, he turned slowly from where he’d been leaning against the countertop of the peninsula in the Lake residency kitchen, to eye the asker of this outlandish inquiry.</p><p>Barbara Lake, Doctor, Mother, and said Question-Asker Extraordinaire, was currently stood behind him. Still dressed in her teal scrubs, she had reached up into the cupboards situated across from her companion, wanting to retrieve her own mug and join him in a much needed caffeine refuel.</p><p>She’d pulled out an old favourite, a use-worn mug that boldly proclaimed, ‘I PRESCRIBE: COFFEE’, coupled with the tiny image of a stethoscope. A gift from her son Jim from two Christmases ago. Cup in hand however, Barbara had halted when her eyes had spied a large triangle of debossed, olive-green skin, that had become exposed from under the troll’s cape as he’d leaned casually against her kitchen counter.</p><p>“You know, a- oh what do the kids call it these days? A- a, ‘<em>ho tag</em>’, er, ‘<em>slag tag</em>’?” she went on, eyes travelling up and far away, searching for more atrocious synonyms. Internally Barbara congratulated herself on otherwise managing to keep a straight face.</p><p>Walter, in the meantime, was having no such luck maintaining stoicism. While the rest of his olive face remained comically bland, the stony ridge of his brows now appeared determined to disappear into his salt and pepper hairline entirely.</p><p>“You said to me once, that the engravings in your skin were like tattoos, for trolls, right?” Barbara asked.</p><p>His face fell in earnest now. </p><p>“Yeeeeaasss....,” he replied, drawing out the single word, immediately seeing the clear conclusion of the Doctor’s train of thought and trying to waylay it’s arrival by responding as slowly as possible.</p><p>“Sooo, it follows,” she continued academically, “that the engraved swirls around your lower back there are-,”</p><p>“-An example of an ancient and revered practice of trollish culture...” Walter interjected, in a valiant last attempt to ward off the imminent killing blow.</p><p>“...a, ‘<em>tramp stamp</em>’!” Barbara finished perkily, softly popping her lips around the last ‘P’ syllable for emphasis.</p><p>Insensate, gold eyes locked with mischievous blue. A weighted moment of silence danced between them, in of which Walter resolutely endeavoured to renounce this deeply offensive diagnosis via sheer, stony will power.</p><p>Simultaneously, Barbara had suddenly become preoccupied, with a kind of laser like focus, on keeping her lips clamped and maintaining her politely blank face. She was in truth, not succeeding at this. The resulting facial expression, Walter noted, was one that suggested that the good doctor had just bitten into a lemon, but was trying to keep the fact that she had done so, a secret.</p><p>Damn it all, why was she so infuriatingly endearing. The changeling wilted. Millennia old, preternatural spymaster and assassin; bested by a single pair of doe-eyes. Although, in his own defense, Walter would argue that the eyes in question were that of a particularly unfair shade of striking. It wasn’t due to any specific weakness within himself. Obviously. Just look what he was dealing with.</p><p>Stricklander’s shoulders slumped and he looked to the heavens. “I WAS YOUNG,” he cried belatedly.</p><p>The doctor’s careful façade crumbled like chalk.</p><p>Catching her breath she straightened her glasses and moved for the coffee pot. Maybe she should feel bad but, given everything that had happened, Barbara felt she was entitled to at least a little ribbing at the expense of her son’s teacher come would be <em>assassin.</em> </p><p>Walter returned to demurely sipping at his tea, pointedly not looking at her. </p><p>The green of his complexion had taken on a russet tinge around his ears and neck. The troll equivalent of a blush. </p><p>Okay, maybe she felt a <em>teeny</em> bit bad. </p><p>Admittedly she did miss those goofy human ears of his, although it was sweet to discover that their proclivity for turning red during blush was an aspect apparently shared across both his forms.</p><p>Walter took another sip of his tea and the good doctor snatched her chance to proffer a partial white flag. Sort of. She did so miss that blush after all.</p><p>“If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you take a guess as to where I have a sexy little Rod of Asclepius hidden on me.”</p><p>Tea sputtered <em>everywhere</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The swirl over Stricklander's lower left hip reads, 'Sunrise', in Trollish because he thought it was edgy sounding when he turned one hundred and twenty one.<br/>--<br/>Anyways, I hope you enjoyed a light laugh for my first time posting, thanks for reading.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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